


The legend of their youth

by norgbelulah



Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual Character, Bisexuality, Community: queer_fest, Discovery, F/M, M/M, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Promiscuity, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Boyd has the soul of a poet,” he remembers hearing his mother say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The legend of their youth

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to betas Thornfield_girl and engage_protocol without which this fic would not be what it is. <3
> 
> Written for and also posted to the queer_fest community on LJ based on the following prompt:
> 
> _Raylan/Boyd, Let my lusts be my ruin, then, since all else is a fake and a mockery. ~Hart Crane_

“Boyd has the soul of a poet,” he remembers hearing his mother say through a cracked bedroom door, so she could hear Bowman if he cried.

His father had laughed, the soft one Boyd can barely recall, because he always saved it just for her. “That ain’t gonna help him none in the future, baby,” he said.

He’d heard the rustling of fabric then and his mother’s sigh. “He’ll know how to love,” she murmured. “He’ll always have that.”

Boyd doesn’t remember what they said then. He must have been very young, because she was still alive.

Those words stay with him. He can hear them in his head sometimes.

The soul of a poet.

Because he remembers her words, the knowledge that had filled her voice with awe and quiet, Boyd keeps it in his heart. He doesn’t let himself forget.

He carries it with him, and when he is older, he is never ashamed to appreciate things. He is never afraid to want.

 

When he is thirteen years old, he kisses a girl for the first time. He always thought Maisy was pretty, with her mane of dark curls and her big brown eyes behind those glasses. She’s one of the quiet ones that barely anybody notices. But Boyd sees her, and he tells her what he thinks behind the bleachers at the junior high, right before he puts his lips on hers.

They date for one week and all the girls hide smiles behind their hands and all the boys roll their eyes because Maisy’s not so special, or so they think.

He asks her one afternoon what she’d do if he wanted to kiss a boy too and she goes more quiet than ever before and doesn’t talk to him again until they’re sixteen and drunk at a party. 

“I won’t tell anyone your secrets,” she whispers to him. 

They go out into the back woods and she lets him lick circles around her nipples and clit. After she comes, he looks up at her as she says, “I ain’t ever heard of nobody like you, Boyd Crowder.”

He thinks that’s okay.

 

When he is eighteen years old, he steals his daddy’s pick-up and drives across state lines to Kingsport, Tennessee. He finds the kind of bar he is looking for and goes home with a man.

He thinks he’s being smart. He learns better that night and he’s lucky, because James is a man who would never have taken advantage.

“That’s how you get beaten, or killed, son,” James tells him in grave tones. “Especially a young thing like you. Move to a city in a few years. Leave this kind of shit behind.”

Boyd shakes his head, defiant. “Get killed just as easy at home. And I ain’t gonna run ‘til I’m ready.”

James looks at him hard and then nods. He tells him how to be safe.

He’s a tall man, whip-thin like Boyd, but older, blond, and graying at the temples. He’s from up north somewhere, says he came to Tennessee for work and has a wife that he lies to regularly and children he can’t look at straight. They’re visiting family out of town.

Boyd takes a sip of his drink and murmurs, “I could never live that way.” 

James smiles and says, “I hope you never have to.”

When they go upstairs, James shows him how things go, how to do it right. When he comes and Boyd swallows all of it right down, then surges right back up, grinning ear to ear, James laughs and says “Boy, I wish I could keep you. You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Boyd stays the weekend and learns everything he wanted to know.

 

When he is nineteen years old, his days, his thoughts, and his desires are full of Raylan Givens.

They meet in the mine. Though they knew each other before that, when they were small. They didn’t speak in high school. Their daddies would have heard about it.

Boyd remembers liking Raylan’s smile for a long time before he liked the boy himself. He always thought it was genuine, in a place and time where not many things were. He sees it turn bitter as the years pass and he knows it’s on account of Arlo. Everyone knows.

They already have Boyd on the powder when Raylan joins the crew. He’s wide-eyed and close-mouthed and it takes a long time for Boyd to realize how frightened he is. He works hard. He hides it well. Boyd knows where he learned that.

 

He catches Raylan’s eye as they sit at the bar in Audrey’s, nursing whiskeys and sneezing out coal dust.

Donnie Baker is singing “Sweet Home Alabama” like he was born there and not three miles down the road and Raylan is grinning like he’s never heard anything so funny. Boyd’s had one drink already and this one’s almost done, so he’s not thinking too much when he tells Raylan, “You got a sweet smile, boy,” and really means it.

Raylan’s whole body stiffens and his eyes grow wider than they are ever in the black. Boyd doesn’t move either, he keeps his eyes on Raylan and he makes sure they shout _honesty_ and _secrecy_ and _trust_ all in one look.

Raylan blinks and shakes his head minutely, but he never frowns and he doesn’t leave. Boyd smiles at him for the rest of the night.

 

Soon after, there are some men coming through, contractors to repair a broke-down piece of equipment. They stay on for a week and Boyd eyes one up right away. It’s an easier connection than Boyd ever thought he’d make on the coal yard and he spends a few beautiful nights in Anthony’s motel bed, sneaking out in the mornings and straightening out a smile all day on the line.

On their last night, he lets himself be melancholy and says he’ll be sorry to see the man go.

They talk about the way things are in Harlan and where Anthony’s from in West Virginia. “Wheeling’s all right,” he says. “Go to a city.” But Boyd shakes his head. So, he says, “What about that one boy? The cute one. He only ever smiles at you.”

Boyd grins. “You mean Raylan? I dunno. I ain’t certain he goes that way.”

“Well, I dunno either, but he sure is pretty. And you’re worried _you_ can’t convince him?”

Boyd laughs and kisses him deeply. They’ve only got one more night.

 

It’s weeks later, and Raylan’s been ignoring Boyd’s glances, his smiles. No one else seems to notice. Boyd knows how to play it smart, keep it secret. It’s something that comes naturally to him, and lately he’s had practice. But Raylan, he’s about at the end of his rope on it. Boyd can tell.

Raylan’s been avoiding Audrey’s, so Boyd goes over to him in the changing room and touches his arm fleetingly as he says, “Come have a drink with me, Raylan.”

The boy’s eyes are wary, but a few others heard Boyd ask. It would be strange if he said no for no reason. It would be stupid to make anyone wonder. Boyd doesn’t think Raylan would do that to him.

Raylan sighs, like he’s only tired, and says, “Sure.”

“I ain’t into this shit,” Raylan tells him two drinks later. They are tucked in the back of the place, ignored by men and whores alike. It’s dark in their little corner, but Boyd would never risk doing anything. Anyway, Raylan’s not ready.

“You sure?” Boyd asks and puts all his desires into his gaze. He doesn’t touch him.

He’s never wanted anyone as much as he wants Raylan. He thinks that’s worth something. 

Raylan doesn’t answer, but his eyes are on Boyd’s hands.

 

Boyd doesn’t go to the high school looking for Raylan. He was supposed to meet some of his cousins there. It’s halfway between their various homesteads, a good place to park and take one truck somewhere. But they’re late or he’s missed them and the only thing he can hear in the dark of the parking lot is the steady thud of an automatic pitcher and the clean sharp ting of an aluminum bat. Boyd heads over to the batting cage.

Raylan is swinging away every fifteen seconds or so. It’s a fast setting for the machine, if Boyd remembers correctly, and he wonders if Raylan’s trying to work through something.

He looks good. Tall and lean in ripped jeans and beat-up sneakers. It’s an indian summer night and he’s only wearing a white undershirt, damp with sweat from exertion and the humidity. His hair has fallen into his eyes. Of course he’s not wearing a helmet. 

He takes Boyd’s breath away and it’s at least three swings, a foul, and two grounders, before Boyd can get it back.

He must catch Boyd from the corner of his eye, because he turns as if startled and a ball whizzes past him and then another as they regard each other.  
“Raylan,” Boyd says, pulling himself together enough to approach the cage.

Raylan’s eyes are hard to read from such a distance. His voice, when he replies, is subdued. “Boyd.”

Boyd smiles. He loves that they’re on a first name basis now. He wonders if Raylan even noticed. He enters the cage.

Raylan never had any girlfriends in high school, not long-time ones. But girls he had had, and Boyd had heard he was a good kisser from more than a few of them. He intends to find out for himself. He wants to do a lot more than kiss.

The night is quiet in its clamoring heat, seeming as though the air can’t wait to press up hard and wanting onto Boyd’s skin and clothes. He imagines Raylan must be so much more warm, having gone through Lord knows how many rounds of batting practice. His heart begins to pound.

He’s nervous and giddy with it. This never happens. Boyd looks and he wants and he gets what he wants, but he’s never needed it before. He feels like he might just need Raylan. He loves that, more than he can put to words.

Raylan’s mouth is drawn flat in an uncertain line. It’s not a frown, but it’s not very welcoming either. Boyd moves closer to him and keeps his expression serious.

“Raylan,” he says softly, “I don’t think you understand how much I want you.”

“Why should it make a difference what you want?” Raylan asks. His back is pressed up against the wire of the cage. He’s gripping his bat like he’s thinking of hitting Boyd with it.

Boyd smiles now, knowingly, and replies, “Doesn’t it?”

Raylan’s eyes widen in that way they do when Boyd’s said something he’s only just realized is true. Boyd wonders how he can see things about this boy that Raylan himself is unable. He wonders if that’s part of loving somebody.

He saves that thought for later and pins himself up against Raylan, whose sharp intake of breath goes right to Boyd’s cock. Raylan drops the bat. 

“I’m burnin’ for you, Raylan,” Boyd whispers. “Can’t you feel it?” He puts his mouth right up next to Raylan’s, but doesn’t lean in. He looks into Raylan’s eyes, blown wide and dark with hazel-brown rims. “Like a furnace-hot coal. Only for you.”

He wraps a hand around the back of Raylan’s neck. It’s damp with sweat and Boyd feels a shiver run down the boy’s spine from the palm of his hand. His shoulders shake with it. 

“I--” Raylan begins to speak, but Boyd can’t wait any longer and thrusts his mouth forward. He lets loose a torrent of lips and tongue, moving with expert abandon. He puts his other hand on Raylan’s hip, pulling him closer. He makes sure Raylan won’t mistake him.

When he pulls away, Raylan follows him, seeking more and Boyd smiles into their second kiss. Raylan’s arms are wrapped around him.

“Now try and tell me ‘no’, Raylan,” he says.

Raylan shuts his eyes and huffs out a desperate laugh, pressing their foreheads together in defeat. “I can’t.”

“I’ll show you so much more, baby,” Boyd tells him. He kisses the side of Raylan’s mouth, chaste and sweet. Raylan leans into his touch. “Meet me at Audrey’s after shift tomorrow.” 

Raylan pulls away and looks at him, questioning. 

“Trust me,” Boyd says with a smile, showing his teeth. “You think I don’t know how not to get caught?”

“All right,” he sighs and Boyd thinks he’s fucking beautiful.

 

Boyd pulls Raylan through the flimsy door of a darkened trailer near the back of the ring surrounding Audrey’s. End of shift is after sundown, so Boyd is sure no one has seen them. 

“Layla’s off tonight, Raylan,” Boyd says at the boy’s unsure expression. “I heard it from Daryll. He should know.”

Raylan smiles at the thought of their fellow miner, who spends all his free cash on time in this very trailer. His hand is still clasped loosely in Boyd’s and he’d followed him in easily enough, but now he pulls away slightly, looking around.

“I know you been in one of these before, Raylan,” he says. “It ain’t as clean as we might like, but we gotta work with what we got.”

Raylan steps forward then, into Boyd’s personal space. He looks into Boyd’s eyes, mischief barely hidden in his smile. “You think you still need to convince me,” he murmurs with some humor and runs his hands up Boyd’s arms.

Boyd is the one who shivers now, his whole body shakes with it, and he sees Raylan take note. He removes his hands and Boyd almost groans. His smile grows wider. “You want me so bad,” he breathes, like Boyd hasn’t been telling him for weeks now.

The tension between them is raw and new, but thick, laden with heat and everything that Boyd desires. Raylan’s face is close to Boyd’s, but he holds himself just a breath away. When Boyd leans forward, he draws back, his expression, wicked, teasing. Boyd’s about to climb him like a tree. 

Except he doesn’t. He can’t until Raylan touches him again. He’s gotta be certain.

“It’s not just want now,” Boyd says, barely thinking. He’s looking at Raylan’s mouth. “It’s need. Raylan, I need you to touch me.”

Raylan lifts a hand to his cheek and Boyd’s entire body is on fire. He raises his eyes to Raylan’s, and they’re serious now, and calm. Boyd thought he would be scared, but he’s not. Not at all.

They hear a creak from the back of the trailer. Then a low giggle.

Raylan jerks away, stiff and terrified, and Boyd feels a spike of murderous rage rise up in him fast, faster than anything. 

He whirls from Raylan and pulls open the particle board door to what might be called a room through the hallway where the toilet and closets are. The knife that was in his pocket is now in his hand, and he doesn’t stop to wonder when he pulled it out.

He sees pretty, blonde Layla, sitting on the floor, leaning against her sofa, half-naked in a pile of clothes. She blinks up at him and giggles again. 

Boyd puts the knife behind his back. “Girl, I thought you were off tonight,” he says, as though nothing is wrong.

She smiles real big. She was one of the prettier girls they have here, but her eyes have that glazed over quality now that junkies always get and her skin hangs on her frame like she’s put on a set of clothes that are just too big for her. 

“Boyd Crowder,” she sing-songs. She moves her eyes over at Raylan, but Boyd doesn’t turn around to see what the boy looks like. “You two was gonna mess around.” She speaks the words gleefully, but with an edge of danger, like she’s accusing them of stealing a shit ton of money.

“I thought you were off tonight, honey,” Boyd says again and kneels down on the floor next to her. He hears Raylan move, shift his weight near the door, but Boyd knows he won’t leave until he’s certain the girl will keep her mouth shut. 

He wants to tell Raylan not to worry. He’s got a plan. It’s gonna be fine.

“I am,” she replies. “Cody wouldn’t drive me out to Corbin, so I got some stuff off Tammy for a few bucks.” He eyes blink slowly again and she stretches. “It was real good. I fell asleep.”

Boyd’s insides give a twist at her, but he makes himself smile. “You got any more?”

Now she frowns, rummages around the filth on the floor and comes up with an empty baggie. “No.”

“Well,” Boyd says softly, pulling his own bag out of his pocket. “You’re in luck. ‘Cause I got somethin’ special here. Just for you.”

Her eyes go big and she makes a grab for it, but he holds it higher than her reach and says in a low voice, “This is good shit, Layla. I ain’t playin’ around. This is the shit my daddy sends up north. Not the horse shit they pawn off ‘round here. Now, I don’ need it, so I’m gonna give it to you. But, look at me now,” he leans in and takes her face in his hand, like you might to an inattentive child. “We’re gonna stay in here and we’re gonna do what we like, and you’re gonna forget you ever saw us.”

She nods but Boyd doesn’t let go. He drops the bag on the floor, the little white pills make a tiny thump are the carpet, and he pulls out his knife again. He holds it under her chin. “You ever breathe a word of this to anyone, Layla honey, I ever hear of you talkin’ shit about me or him or any of this, I will come here and I will kill you. You believe me now, don’t you?”

She nods, tears in her eyes, and he lets her go. He puts the knife away and picks up the bag before she can manage to scramble to it. He tears it open and takes out two, round, white pills. “You’re gonna take these right now, and I’m gonna watch you do it,” he says. “Then you’re gonna go find some of the other girls, whoever’s not workin’, and you’re gonna share the rest. Say you got ‘em off one of those guys came through from Morgantown, saved ‘em for your day off.” 

She takes them dry and sprints past Boyd as soon as he moves out of her path.

When he turns back to Raylan, the boy is sitting on the bed and looking at him with grave eyes. “You would kill her?” he asks.

Boyd straightens up and stares Raylan down. “I don’t make idle threats, Raylan. You know that about me. I would, but I won’t have to. She’ll most likely forget all about this. If she doesn’t, she’ll be dead or gone outside of three, four years from now.”

Raylan’s mouth twists up in disgust, but Boyd shrugs and says, “Facts of life.”

“You don’t hate it?”

“I don’t waste my energy on that. I deal with it. I navigate it. I use what I can to stay alive and to live the way I want.”

Raylan folds his arms in front of his chest. “This is so dangerous, Boyd. Why risk it?”

Boyd smiles and crosses the space between them. “I been waitin’ to show you, son.” 

Raylan’s eyes dart to the door, then back to Boyd when his hand comes up swift, but soft, to Raylan’s cheek. “Out there is frightening, Raylan. You think I ain’t scared of what might happen? But, I ain’t never let a little fear hold me back. Not from this. This is the only thing that’s real.” Raylan’s eyes are large and dark in his face, but he doesn’t speak. “Or is it me? Is it this you’re afraid of?”

Something hard and fearless comes into Raylan’s expression and he draws his hands up and around Boyd, fingers in his hair, nails dug hard into his back, pulling him down into an almost violent kiss, his lips and tongue working hard to prove himself. Boyd climbs on top of him, needing intensely to be closer to him, to feel the heat that seems to be rolling between them.

“I ain’t afraid,” Raylan growls into his lips and all Boyd can do is pant out his want. He groans Raylan’s name and Raylan smiles, mood changing in an instant. “Jesus, you want me so bad,” he says again, falling backward on the bed and hooking a leg up around Boyd’s waist.

Boyd’s about to lose his mind. He pulls hard at Raylan’s shirt, until the boy leans up to let it come free, he’s got his hands at Boyd’s fly. “Off,” Boyd mutters, as if Raylan is thinking anything different, and kisses him again. He tastes earthy and real, and the smell of coal dust is on him, though they washed all that shit away an hour ago.

When he gets his jeans free and his cock out, Raylan glances down at it, flush and hard with need, like he’s never seen one before. Boyd pulls his head up and kisses him again, swift and reassuring. “What, Raylan?” he asks, voice soft. He’s got to remember to take things slow.

“I don’t want you to fuck me,” he says, only a hint of uncertainty creeping into his words.

Boyd smiles, kisses him again. “That’s fine. You want to fuck me?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Okay,” Boyd says and looks into Raylan’s eyes. They aren’t completely full of the trust Boyd’s asked for, but it’s lurking there, in the darkness. Boyd can coax it out. “Don’t worry, baby. I know just what to do.”

He touches Raylan in all the places he learned about, in all the things he read, and the men he fucked. He wants it to be good. He wants Raylan to come first and hard.

Boyd knows where Layla keeps her lube. He pours some over his fingers and takes Raylan’s cock in hand.

Raylan is hard and twisted up with it, panting from Boyd’s touch alone, but he gives him a look and huffs, “You just gonna jerk me off? I can do that myself, son.”

Boyd smiles, big and toothy, full of everything he’s feeling and everything he wants Raylan to feel. “This is gonna be the best motherfucking handjob you will ever have, Raylan. You ready?”

Raylan’s laugh turns into a moan as Boyd begins to work him and he unravels in Boyd’s hand. 

When he’s almost there, all tightened up muscles and fevered breath, Boyd leans further in and ruts his cock right up next to Raylan’s. He wraps his fingers around both of them and he feels Raylan shudder. His eyes are wide open and looking up at Boyd, almost unseeing, but filled with something awestruck.

“You too,” Boyd says, moving faster with his own need, with Raylan’s. “Help me, Raylan.” And Raylan’s hand is over his and he’s coming in thick stripes and low moans and Boyd’s coming too, tensing up fast, bucking hard, and thrusting his face into Raylan’s sweat-soaked shoulder.

He’s heavy on Raylan, he knows, but he finds moving far too difficult an activity in which to engage. He smiles into Raylan’s skin and shifts when Raylan does, pressing closer mindlessly.

Raylan laughs softly into his ear. “You make a convincing argument,” he says and Boyd bites his collarbone in response. Raylan shoves him off, grinning stupidly. Boyd loves it.

Minutes or maybe hours go by and they doze and laugh and talk in low voices, until Raylan rolls over and sits up, looking down on Boyd with eyes shining like hot coals in the dark. “I’m gonna go down on you,” he says. “Tell me how to do it.”

Boyd’s feeling heavy and his tongue is flying free. “It’s just like goin’ down on a girl. ‘Cept, you do a different thing with your mouth.” He puts his hands on Raylan’s hips when suddenly the boy is straddling him. He looks up, wondering grin on his lips, as he realizes this is really about to happen.

Raylan smiles at him but his eyes are questioning. “You don’t just like boys?”

Boyd grins, runs his hands up and down Raylan’s thighs. “I like everything,” he tells him. “Right now, I’m all about you.”

Raylan leans down to kiss him, drawing him close again, flush. He slides down Boyd’s hips, draws his lips from collarbone to navel, lower.

“You don’t have to, Raylan,” Boyd says.

Raylan’s his voice is soft and certain. “I want to.”

Boyd knows Raylan is a dallier. He likes that Boyd wants him so badly and he wants Boyd because of it. But he’ll always go back to the girls. He might never taste another cock after Boyd’s. He might want to, but if there’s a girl, and there always is, Raylan will pick her.

Boyd doesn’t mind. He loves the idea of being special, singular. He thinks it’s romantic.

Raylan will never forget him.

He talks Raylan through it, with quiet words of praise like, “That’s good, baby,” “faster now, yes,” until he can’t think anymore and he’s just saying Raylan’s name a lot and arching his back. 

When he comes again, Raylan’s not ready and he chokes down half of Boyd’s come before he pulls off jerkily and the rest jets across his hand and chest and thighs. Boyd gazes at him, thoughts so far from coming down, chest tight with something large and real, and he says, “Raylan, right now, you are the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Raylan stares at him with eyes wide, disbelieving. He shakes his head and shrugs it off. But Boyd pulls him close anyway, kisses the come from his mouth with a fervor in which he hasn’t indulged quite yet. Raylan moans into the kiss, and lets Boyd do as he pleases.

If Boyd ever has the opportunity to kill a man in cold blood and escape with his morality and his freedom intact, he decides right then and there that it will be Arlo Givens for stunting the growth of a heart like Raylan’s.

Boyd knows Raylan will never get enough love, from anybody, to feel truly comfortable and it isn’t because he needs more, or he’s greedy. It’s because he’ll let it slide off his back, he’ll push it away until it runs bitter and dry, because he can never trust it. 

Boyd wonders if such trust can be taught, if anything can save this boy from a life of blind unhappiness.

He intends to try.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Until the bright logic is won](https://archiveofourown.org/works/642250) by [norgbelulah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah)




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